More Than a Thousand Words
by ABreathofLiterature
Summary: This story is based upon the episodes "Once Upon a Time" and "Time and Memories". I felt an emotional connection with these episodes and the Lord gave me an inspiration to pen this tale. I have written this fan fiction, not only to unburden many of the emotions I am experiencing, but also to encourage anyone who feels there is no hope. There is always hope. Edited by a dear friend.
_More Than a Thousand Words_

A Hawaii Five-O Fan Fiction

The inside of the small cathedral was still and silent; only the sound of soft rain could be heard as it hit the stained glass windows. A few lit candles were silhouetted against the dark surroundings, and their flames flickered gently, bidding weary souls to enter this sanctuary. In a way, they resembled the true Light, whose presence could be felt.

Upon first entering, one would think the place empty, for all was still and serene. However, upon closer examination one could find one man, whose head was bent with weariness, sitting in one of the many pews. His face was in his hands, and his shoulders sagged as if with a great burden. Any person who entered this cathedral would hardly expect to see this man here. For this man, whose heart burned with a passion for justice and truth, was never seen to cry. Yes, Stephen McGarrett—the top man of Five-O, who could track down the most desperate of criminals and outsmart the most devious villain—was crying.

Steve McGarrett's hands trembled slightly as he uncovered his wet face. His eyes, usually so sure and steadfast, were distant and weary. Silent tears streamed down his face and made water marks on his shirt cuff. He quickly wiped them away, but they returned again and again.

"Oh, God, why…why? _"_ he whispered, his voice deep with emotion. His watery eyes cast a longing glance toward one of the several stained glass windows. He gazed out past the window toward the outside world. The raindrops fell steadily now, as did McGarrett's thoughts. His reflections began to plunge deeper and deeper into the past.

He had been fourteen years old when his father died. It was a sudden event. At the time, the event seemed like a fast-paced dream. He remembered vividly the flashing ambulance lights, his mother's cries, the feeling of his sister's trembling hand in his. The memory swept over him now like a great wind, the emotions crowding inside him like a mounting storm.

" _Steve?" Mary Ann whispered, her voice shaky with fear._

" _Yes, Mary Ann?"_

" _Is father going to…?" Mary Ann stopped speaking for a moment. Her next words came out quickly, as if she dreaded saying them. "Is he going to die?"_

Steve remembered the awful fear that had gripped his soul as she uttered those words. Even at a young age, he had always been one to face reality, and he could never hide the truth of a situation.

" _I don't know, Mary Ann. But, whatever happens, I will be right here…I won't abandon you or mother. We have to be strong for Dad."_

Steve's eyes filled with a deep sorrow as he remembered his sister's fearful expression. He had grabbed her hand the moment he saw his mother walking down the hall toward them. He had known, in that instant, that his father had died. He recollected clearly the raw pain in her eyes—the pain of loss.

The hours, days, weeks, and months that followed were as vividly impressed in his mind as that night. The sleepless nights, the tears and heart-wrenching sobs, the deep emptiness inside... He could remember the tearful funeral. All of his father's fellow police officers had come—even Officer Mark Brighton, who had still been recovering from a fractured neck. Steve could still see the pain and guilt in Mark Brighton's eyes as he had pressed their small hands.

" _Your father was a brave and honorable man. He saved my life—took that bullet for me."_ Brighton had wiped his eyes, which were red with weeping, and gazed deeply into their own. _"You must not hold any hate for the drug addict who shot your father. Yes, he killed him; yes, he has brought deep pain and loss to your family, but Christ's love and forgiveness are in you. Jesus Christ died for all the dirty and rotten sins we've committed. He forgave that robber on the cross next to Him! He forgave the very people who put Him on the cross…us."_ Brighton had looked straight into Stephen's eyes. " _Your father forgave that drug addict even as he pulled the trigger. Your father forgave that criminal because Christ forgave his sins. 'Forgive, and you will be forgiven.' And, even when our Savior was on that cross, he said, 'Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do.' "_

" _They do not know what they do…"_ Those words echoed in McGarrett's mind as he broke away from the memory, fresh tears falling down his cheeks. Mark Brighton's words had seemed so empty when he heard them that day. He remembered the anger that had gripped his heart for several months afterwards. "Why, God, why did you take my father? How can I forgive a murderer? How?" He had prayed, cried, and whispered that prayer more times than he could remember.

The anger had reached its peak when his mother took both him and his sister to see the condemned man in prison. Steve recollected the variety of emotions that had surged within his breast upon entering the small colorless room. There, behind the glass window, had sat his father's murderer. It was a moment Steve never would forget. He could still remember every detail of the man's face. He had been young—not even twenty—with a thick crop of dirty-blond hair and eyes that were dull and distant. The man's hands had twitched nervously as the members of the McGarrett family took their seats in front of the glass window. His mother had picked up the telephone receiver.

" _Jim," his mother stated softly; her eyes filled with tears, but sincerity was etched in every fiber._

 _The guilty man looked away and chuckled, though the chuckle sounded more like a groan. "What you want, lady? Why you come see me, huh? I killed your husband, lady, and you want to come here and chat with me? What could you possibly say? 'You filthy scrap of humanity! You junkie!' That's what you've got to say, isn't it?"_

McGarrett bowed his head and let out a shaky breath. He would never forget the look of pity in his mother's eyes…how she had gazed straight into Jim's face, almost like she was looking into his soul.

" _No, Jim. I've only come to say one thing." She paused, placed her trembling hand on the glass window._ " _I forgive you."_

Within seconds, the criminal's entire demeanor had changed dramatically. His coldness fell away as he gazed back into the face of Steve's mother. His eyes began to fill with tears as he let out a deep groan—a groan of the soul.

" _Forgive me, lady…forgive me…I am so sorry! I am so…"_

The man hadn't even finished his sentence; he couldn't. He hung up the receiver, turned his back away, and was taken out. Steve would never forget the rage that had sliced through him like a dagger. He hadn't been able to look in his mother's face. He had run out of the room, past the numerous prison guards and out the building's doors. Tears had been streaming down his cheeks—an act which had caused him deep shame—and his breath came in gasps.

" _Steve! Steve!" his mother cried as she ran down the steps. "Steve, what is it? Talk to me. Please…" Tears ran down her cheeks. "Talk to me, my son; talk to me."_

" _How could you do it? How could you…" Steve tried hard to force down the tears, but they wouldn't be stopped. "How could you forgive him? How could you forgive the man who killed your husband—my father! I've tried, Mom, I've tried! I've prayed my heart out, but I just can't…I just…" Steve's heart broke. He turned his face away and began to weep. His mother's loving arms encircled him and held his shaking frame._

Those same tears spilled down his cheeks again now, nearly thirty years later. He could feel some of that raw pain returning. True—it was only a shadow of what it had been, but a broken heart never heals completely. Many cracks still remain.

" _Weep, my son, weep on me. Don't hold it in any longer. I know you want to be brave and strong…but even the bravest man weeps," Steve's mother whispered. "Even the strongest man cries." She held him closer to her and wept with him. "'Forgive, and you will be forgiven'," she spoke against his ear. "'Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do.'"_

Stephen McGarrett breathed in deeply and tried to calm his heaving chest. _No, no, I will not cry those tears again…I will not open up that wound…not now._ For a fleeting moment, Steve wished Danno was beside him. He needed to feel the young man's calm yet reassuring presence. He felt alone—truly alone.

Steve looked down at his hands and noticed, for the first time, that his fingertips were turning a slight shade of purple. Steve stood up in an attempt to warm himself and slowly walked over to a window.

One could see the entire city of Los Angeles as one gazed out—the flashing lights of late-night clubs, the tall, rather shabby business buildings pointing towards the moon, and all the busyness and traffic that streamed through the city. One felt rather small in such a fast-paced environment.

Suddenly, McGarrett's eyes caught sight of a young couple strolling past the church. Their hands were locked in an embrace, but their steps were reluctant. The woman's eyes were sorrowful, yet determined as she slowly stopped underneath a street lamp. The young man stopped, as well. Their hands parted. McGarrett watched intently as the woman began to speak. He could tell that her speech was hesitant. The man's confused countenance suddenly flooded with anger and took on a desperate look. He spoke quickly, his brows knitting in confusion. He extended his hand and touched her cheek; she shook her head and turned away. Steve could see the tears in her eyes. Her footsteps became rapid, and she broke into a run. The man called after her over and over again. She didn't come back; she was gone. The man shook his head and ran his hands through his hair, hurt and bewilderment etched in his every movement. He stood there for quite some time, not moving or speaking, just standing and gazing longingly after a figure long gone.

A soft sigh escaped McGarrett's lips as he stared at the man. He could remember well that same hurt and perplexity. His thoughts raced back to a day he tried never to remember: the day Cathy left him. He could feel the betrayal, anger, and confusion flooding his heart again, just as it had that day. It had happened nearly ten years ago, yet it seemed like yesterday.

Cathy was the most beautiful person Steve had ever met. She had been sensitive, caring, strong, and full of love for him; at least, he had thought so then. He had first met her as a lieutenant on leave from the navy. He smiled unconsciously through his tears as the scene unfolded in his mind.

 _Steve walked down the gangplank and onto the shore. His eyes drank in the sight of his birthplace, Hawaii. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily and breathing in the scent of salty water and fragrant air. No matter where he went, no matter how far, he would always come back to Hawaii._

" _Excuse me, sailor," a woman's voice rang out as a red convertible slowed to a stop before him. The car window was rolled down and Steve could clearly see the woman inside. She was not too young—maybe in her mid-thirties, with wavy, auburn hair which framed her face. Yet, what drew Steve to her instantly was the deep care and sincerity in her eyes. However, he could see pain in them, as well. It was as if they were channels of light marred by shadows._

" _Do you know where I could find the USS Arizona Memorial? I am afraid this map of mine is driving me insane with all these wrong turns, confusing street names, and, well…" the woman stopped and smiled apologetically. "Forgive me; I didn't mean to vent out all my frustration on you."_

 _Steve returned her smile. He couldn't explain why, but, somehow, it seemed like when she smiled all the shadows in her eyes were momentarily dispelled._

" _Well, you are not too far. Turn around, turn left when you exit this sea port, continue down the road for about two miles or so, then…" Steve stopped himself and chuckled. "I guess it is a little longer than I thought."_

 _The woman shook her head, laughing in amusement. "I understand! Not everyone can carry a map in their head. Though, I would expect more from a sailor." Her latter comment was made in a teasing voice. "Why don't you write it down for me? I have a note-pad somewhere…"_

" _Why don't you just let me ride with you? I could tell you exactly where to go."_

 _The woman's eyes widened in surprise, and she shook her head. "I couldn't ask you to do that! I wouldn't want you to go through the trouble."_

" _It's no trouble at all." Steve stared into her eyes. "It would be my pleasure."_

 _The woman smiled softly and returned his gaze. "And what may the name be of my rescuer?"_

" _Stephen McGarrett," Steve replied. "And yours?"_

" _Cathy; Cathy Winslow."_

That name had become as dear to McGarrett as his own life within a few weeks' time. Cathy and he had been so different, yet so much alike. She had come from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, and grew up in Los Angeles as the only sibling of her brother, Chris, who was several years her senior. Her father had been a successful lawyer until, at the age of fifty, he was diagnosed with leukemia and became too weak to work. Chris had joined the navy at about that time.

Cathy had tended to her father with all the love and care God had given her. She held onto the desperate hope that her father would live, although every single doctor had shaken his head and repeated the same words: "I am so sorry, Miss Winslow, but your father is going to die. It's just a matter of time." However, Cathy had not given up; she had never stopped praying and believing that God would heal her father.

Steve remembered the pain and sorrow in Cathy's eyes when, one day, she told him of her father's passing a year after his diagnosis. Chris had been stationed in Pearl Harbor, she had said, and had been expected to be on leave soon. However, he never made it home. He had been on the _USS Arizona_ when it was destroyed in the destruction of Pearl Harbor by the Japanese. A few days later, Cathy had found a letter addressed to her in her brother's old belongings. It had been a letter of apology for the many years he had been absent from her life and her dad's.

"… _I am coming home soon to make it right; I promise,"_ he had written. _"I want to know you better, Cathy…I want to love you as a brother should. I pray the Lord will give me a second chance, and I hope you will, too…"_

" _Oh, Steve, there were days I couldn't even pray,"_ Cathy had said. _"It was hard just to believe the Lord even cared. Why had he taken my dad? I believed and prayed so hard. Then, a few days later, He took my brother. Why? I kept asking God that question over and over again. Within weeks, my heart broke and I just couldn't hold on to His promises anymore. I remember running out of the house and down the street to a small church. There was a flower garden there."_ Cathy had laughed softly, and Steve could remember the deep yearning in her eyes. _"When I was a little girl, I used to play in that garden every spare minute I had. My mother had tended to the flowers there. She would do it as a favor to the pastor, yet I know it didn't feel like a favor to her; she loved the garden with all that she was. She had a deep joy in watching things grow. She would pluck the weeds, all the while watching me with laughing eyes. She loved flowers so._ Cathy had paused then, a far-off look in her eyes. _"I used to pretend she was there, tending the flowers with me after she passed away…"_

Steve remembered that he had taken her in his arms then, for she had begun to weep. He had stroked her hair, calming her with his presence.

" _Shh…it's alright…it's alright." Steve kissed her head and continued to stroke her hair._

" _I ran into the garden, Steve, tears blinding my eyes. I fell down on my knees and cried out to God. 'I have never given up on You before, Lord, but I can't go on! I just can't! I do not understand. Do You love me? Do You even care? Why have you taken the most precious people in my life away from me? Why!'" Steve could feel her tears upon his shirt. Cathy said nothing more for several moments. Then she spoke, her voice hardly above a whisper. "Oh, Steve, I will never forget what happened next." She raised her head and looked into Steve's eyes. "I was kneeling on the ground. My face was in my hands; I believe a breeze was blowing—yes, there was—and I felt something brush up against my leg. I looked down and saw a small note that had attached itself to my knee. At first, I assumed it was just a wrinkled piece of paper that had been picked up by the wind, but then I noticed some words printed on it. I picked it up in my hands and read…" The faded light in Cathy's eyes brightened. "'For My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways My ways. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts._ _1_ _But those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.'"_ _2_ _Fresh tears were filling Cathy's eyes. "Those Bible verses were meant for me, Steve. They were meant for me."_

Steve turned his face away from the window and breathed out a heavy sigh. Her words of faith had encouraged his weary soul those many years ago. Cathy's strong faith in Jesus Christ and her persevering character caused him to fall in love with her. She had been all he had ever wanted in a woman, and more. _Cathy, why did you go?_

Steve recalled every detail of her departure from Hawaii—from his life. A few days before, he had proposed to her with every hope that she would accept. However, it was never to be.

" _Flight 89 to Los Angeles to take off in twenty minutes. All passengers, please make final preparations to depart building and board flight."_

 _Steve locked eyes with Cathy, deep hurt and bewilderment visible in his irises. "I don't understand, Cathy," he whispered, his voice uncharacteristically calm and distant._

 _Cathy returned his gaze, her features anxious and worn. "I know, Steve. I know it doesn't make any sense. I just…"_

" _What, Cathy? What is it? Tell me. You do love me, don't you?"_

" _Yes, Steve. I love you with all my heart," Cathy replied. Her voice trembled slightly as she stated those last words._

" _Then, why? Why are you doing this, Cathy? I love you more than I have loved any woman before…more than I thought possible."_

 _Steve took Cathy's hand and held it in a strong yet tender grip, though Cathy felt a slight trembling._

" _Don't go, Cathy." Steve kept his voice steady, though he didn't know how long he could. "Don't leave me."_

" _Last call for flight 89 to Los Angeles. All passengers board departing plane now. I repeat: all passengers for flight 89 to Los Angeles must board the plane now."_

 _Cathy gazed into Steve's eyes a moment longer. Steve could feel the struggle taking place within her. However, a few seconds later, with tears flooding her eyes, she removed her hand from his grip._

" _I am so sorry, Steve. I just can't marry you. I can't," she whispered. Without another word, without even looking back, Cathy walked away from Steve and boarded flight 89._

 _Steve stared after her as she boarded the plane, silently begging her to look back._

Steve forced the memory to end. He did not want to remember anymore. Already, he could feel the knot of hurt returning in his soul. He knew it had never really left.

Steve's thoughts now returned to the events that had been occupying his mind for the past three months. It had been three months, to the day, since his baby nephew—his sister's only child, Tommy—had been diagnosed with stomach cancer, which was medically incurable. Mary Ann had been devastated. She had tried everything—every treatment and every specialist. Yet, they had all said the same thing: "There's no hope; it's incurable."

Mary Ann had come so close to a mental breakdown. All her hope was expended; every prayer seemed like a dying breath. Steve had keenly felt her pain, though he could not physically be with her. Her fears had been his own, and her pain, his.

Then, nearly four days ago, he had received a telegram from Mary Ann's husband informing him of his sister's discovery of "the Miracle Doctor", Doctor Freemont. This "healer" had promised that she would save the baby and was giving Tommy "treatments". Tom, Mary Ann's husband, had begged Steve to come to Los Angeles. McGarrett had instantly dropped everything, and, within an hour, he was aboard a plane to California. Steve smiled softly as he remembered Danny's concern and understanding as he was leaving the office.

" _Watch the store, Danno. I don't know exactly when I will be back, but it shouldn't be more than a few days. I know how important this case is…."_

" _Don't worry about it, Steve. I'll take care of it. Chin, Kono, and I—we all will take care of it." Danny smiled reassuringly, though Steve could see that he was troubled._

" _Thank you, Danno. I know all of you will." As McGarrett placed on his suit coat, he could see Danno fidgeting slightly._

" _Steve," Danno suddenly asked, "is there anything I can do? Do you need anything? I mean, other than work-related?"_

 _Steve smiled for the first time in a long while and nodded his head. "Prayer, my friend; many prayers."_

 _In return, Danno's lips parted into a gentle, encouraging smile. "You know I will, Steve—every minute."_

The soothing memory faded away as it followed McGarrett's hasty departure from Hawaii to L.A. Steve could remember well the knots of apprehension that had lasted all through the night on the plane and into the following morning as he rode in a taxi to his sister's small, one-level house on Williamsport Drive. The minute he had walked up to the home and rang the doorbell, he knew deep within his soul that everything was about to change. He knew Tommy was going to die, as was a part of Mary Ann; she wasn't ever going to be the same. She would become like him—a bearer of many sorrows and burdens. Her smile would lose a trace of its former glory, the brightness of her eyes would dim, and her step would be less lively and quick.

Steve remembered the prayer that had escaped his lips as he stood before the brightly painted door. _"Oh, Father, spare us this trial. I beg You, spare Mary Ann this grief."_ Then the door had flung open, and Mary Ann stood before him. Within a second's time, they were in each other's arms.

 _"Oh, Steve, Steve!" Mary Ann exclaimed, her arms flung around Steve's neck and her cheek pressed against the side of his face._

 _Steve smiled and kissed her on the top of the head. "Oh, sis, you look fine— marvelous," he replied as he surveyed her from head to foot. Her expression was bright and cheerful, her eyes wide with an irrepressible joy. She grinned in return and kissed his hand lightly._

 _"I always was a beauty, Steve; you know that," Mary Ann teased with a wink._

 _Steve chuckled and shook his head. "Mom said that; I never did."_

 _Mary Ann placed her hands on her hips. "You will apologize, Stephen McGarrett, before you place a foot in this house." However, she could hardly contain her serious composure, and she kissed his cheek lightly. "I will forgive you for Tommy's sake." Mary Ann's playfulness disappeared and was replaced with a serene smile. "He is going to live, Steve. My baby is going to live!"_

 _Steve felt the knots in his stomach tighten again. He attempted to return her smile and hugged her once more. "I hope so, sis. I hope so."_

 _"It is a miracle, Steve," Mary Ann continued, as if she hadn't heard him. "God sent me Dr. Freemont, a true healer. She is going to heal my baby. She is healing Tommy! I can feel it."_

Steve would never forget the hope in Mary Ann's eyes. Renewed resentment surged within his breast against Dr. Freemont; she was one of thousands of quack doctors and supposed "healers" in America. Steve let out a bitter, repressed laugh. These "miracle workers" sucked people's finances dry with phony treatments while, at the same time, dangling false hope before their patients and their loved ones.

He had investigated Dr. Freemont, at Tom's request, and within hours he had trapped her into selling him one of her "electrical treatments" with the understanding that the machine would be taken to McGarrett's Hawaiian address, which fell under the category of interstate commerce. This act allowed the Food and Drug Administration to proceed with arresting the infamous doctor and closing her medical practice. However, McGarrett knew that Dr. Freemont would only be tried for one count of interstate sale or mislabeled merchandise and, at best, would receive a sentence of one year in prison and no more than a one thousand dollar fine. Yet, that was not enough for him.

 _She should be tried for murder…on one hundred counts!_ Steve's jaw tightened as he tried to fight back another wave of anger and pain as yet another memory formed in his mind—the day when, not a week ago, McGarrett had told his sister the truth.

 _"I don't believe you, Steve! I will never believe you. Dr. Freemont is a saint, and God sent her to me. She is healing Tommy; I know it!"_

 _Stephen shook his head quickly, and his furrowed brow deepened. "Listen to me, Mary Ann. Dr. Freemont is a quack. Her 'treatment machines' have been examined by legitimate physicians. Listen—" McGarrett opened the folded piece of paper in his hand and read it aloud—"'A worthless conglomeration of bent tubing, miscellaneous materials, switches, bolts, and other useless wires.' Can't you see, sis?" Steve looked up from the paper and gazed intensely into Mary Ann's eyes. "She is a liar and a murderer. She cares nothing for others. She dangles false hope in front of her victims, and then exhausts the life earnings from them." Steve stopped for a moment. "And, to top it all off, she lulls her victims into a serene state with her electrical treatments while their bodies continue to die without the aid of a true physician."_

 _Mary Ann's eyes widened with each passing word and, by the last sentence, she was shaking her head vigorously in utter disbelief and anger. "I will never believe you, Stephen! Stop it! Stop it!" Mary Ann covered her ears with her hands, and her body began to shake with sobs. "She is healing Tommy; she is! I have seen all the grateful testimonials! She has cured many others—others with all hope abandoned, like Tommy—I have seen them!"_

 _Steve's jaw tightened, and his eyes filled with a deep pain. "Every quack who is dragged into court brings those testimonials! Oh, yes, the Faithful. Always, the Faithful come ready and willing to testify on the false physician's behalf. Yet, every time, the physician testifying for the prosecution proves_ _the same thing: that the patient had never been ill in the first place, or the patient had been ill, but had been cured by irradiation or by surgery administered by a legitimate physician. Nevertheless, either the patient wrongly attributed their cure to the quack, or the patient's illness disappeared in and of itself. Why don't you listen to me, Mary Ann? I am trying to tell you the truth because I love you—because you, Tommy, and Tom are all the family I've got." Steve gripped Mary Ann's shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes. "I want Tommy to live as much as you do," he whispered, "and every fiber in my soul is burning with pain and grief for his condition. I would gladly bear it for him…take all the pain for him. To see such a little child, only a baby, in such affliction is almost more than I can bear! But, I will not see my nephew and my sister beguiled with lies of hope and recovery. Dr. Freemont is going to be arrested, and her phony medical practice will be shut down. She will not be able to hurt anyone else." Steve's passionate eyes grew moist. "She will not be able to hurt you anymore."_

 _Mary Ann's face contorted with emotion, and tears streamed down her freckled cheeks. "Hurt me? Steve, you are hurting me! You are preventing the only person in the whole world from saving my baby—your nephew! You are the one who is hurting me; you're breaking my heart all over again." Mary Ann's voice choked, and she pulled away from Steve's grip. "If you do this, I will not forgive you—ever!"_

At those words, a chord in Steve's heart had snapped. McGarrett could clearly remember the deep pain that had flooded his soul. Why had she not been able to understand the truth? Yet Steve already knew the answer. She had not been able to face the reality—to know that Tommy was going to die.

Mary Ann had called Dr. Freemont and alerted her of the situation. So, when Steve had gone to officially hand over the seizure papers, Dr. Freemont had been ready to greet him with all her numerous tactics.

First, she tried flirtation, and, when that didn't work, she related to him an agonizing monologue of her sorrowful life. At the failure of this second tactic, she tried her last and most effective method. She spoke two of the most bitter and most painful sentences anyone had ever said to Steve.

 _"Your sister will never forgive you for this. We both know that baby will die, and I will make sure Mary Ann believes you are the cause for Tommy's death—the cause of her pain."_

Three days after Dr. Freemont's arrest, Tommy had slipped into a coma and passed away. Dr. Freemont, true to her word, sowed the seeds of anger and bitterness in Mary Ann's grieving soul. Mary Ann wouldn't even permit Steve to see Tommy upon his arrival at the hospital.

 _"He's dead, Stephen; you killed him."_ Those were the only words she had uttered, the only words of comfort she had had.

Steve did not hold it against her for even a second. He knew the anguish of her heart, the deep pain of her soul, and he could not blame her for lashing out. Yet, those words had stung his innermost being like salt upon a burning wound.

Now, an hour later, Steve sat alone in this darkening church, the memories of his past his only companions of consolation. "Oh, God, help me," he choked, his voice thick with emotion. "I don't understand. Why? Why are You doing this? I have endeavored always to serve You faithfully—to accept Your perfect will. Yet each time I pass another trial, another one comes, more painful than before, and then another." Fresh tears were pouring down his cheeks now, and he could hardly steady his gasping chest. "First, you took my father, then Cathy, then Tommy, and now…now you have broken my sister's heart. You took her only child! Her only child! Why…. _why?!_ " Steve was shouting now, and his tear-filled eyes were bright with indignation and anguish. "You say You are merciful and good, yet You allow these terrible things to happen…You let evil men and women endure and grow in power whilst the righteous suffer pain and injustice. Why do You stand by and allow it? You let quacks like Dr. Freemont suck money and hope from helpless and dying victims. Yet all she is guilty of in the eyes of the law is interstate commerce! She should be tried for murder—on a thousand counts!" Stephen's heart was beating faster now; he could feel floodwaters of anger gushing into his soul like stormy waves crashing upon the shore.

"Why do I have to care so much? Who made me 'Big Daddy' to the world? What does it matter if lives are damaged by phony, greedy doctors, and if hearts are broken by lies? What do I care if hopes are dashed, and families torn apart?" Steve ran his lined hands through his hair. "Why did You make me care? What good does it do if crime prevails? What good?" Steve's voice was no more than a hopeless whisper now. He felt a terrible dread and despair flood his innermost being. Lowering himself to his knees upon the floor, he bowed his head into his hands and closed his eyes. "Why, God? Why?" He whispered one last time.

Stephen McGarrett remained in that position for a long while. He did not stir, nor did he notice the lengthening shadows upon the walls as the moon reflected through the stained-glass windows. He felt all his strength drain away from him. He leaned his head against one of the mahogany pews, too weary to open his eyes. He wondered, for only an instant, what it would be like to never open them again.

As McGarrett slowly turned his head to the side, his eyes fell upon an aged, worn Bible protruding from the pew's side. A small red bookmark peeped out from the book's slightly frayed pages. Steve hesitated a moment before placing his hand upon the Bible, slowly withdrawing it from its place.

At first, his tired, unmoving eyes only gazed upon the cover. However, after a while, Steve's hand strayed to the corner of the cover, and he opened it to the bookmarked page. His eyes scanned the worn sheet. The bookmark had been placed in the book of Isaiah, chapter forty-one. A few of the verses had been underlined, and Steve's eyes were drawn to the first passage.

 _"'You are My servant, I have chosen you and have not cast you away: Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, I will uphold you with My righteous hand.'"_ 3

McGarrett's eyes stilled as he came to the conclusion of that sentence. Fresh tears filled his eyes, and, for a moment, the words were blurred. He felt a profound emotion—one that was unexplainable—course through his soul as if God, Himself, were caressing his broken spirit. For an instant, Steve could hardly breathe. He closed his eyes, a deep feeling of shame coursing through his body. "Oh, forgive me, Father," he whispered at last, his voice thick with tears. "Forgive me for doubting You. But I am so afraid." Steve paused and gulped back a rising sob. "For the first time, I almost feel that there is no hope. Please, Jesus, give me strength to fight this…I cannot do it without You." Steve breathed out a shaky sigh and rubbed his watery eyes. As he did so, his eyes fell upon an underlined passage in the forty-third chapter of Isaiah.

 _"'When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned, nor shall the flame scorch you. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior…'"_ _4_

The words seemed to stand out as if they were rising from the page. McGarrett knew that they were meant for him. He felt an unexplainable peace fall upon him, and, even though he could still sense the pain in his soul, Steve knew that he was not alone—nor would he ever be.

Suddenly, Steve heard the soft slam of a car door from outside the church. The sound of approaching footsteps followed soon after. Steve listened curiously as the footsteps began making their way up the outside steps to the church's entrance. Steve glanced down at his wristwatch and squinted to see the shadowed clock hands. Eleven-thirty. _Who could that be at this hour? The pastor? Perhaps to…_ However, Steve didn't have time to finish his thought. At that moment, he heard the church door open and then close softly. Within seconds, the silhouetted figure of a woman entered the room. The moon illuminated fragments of her apparel, but kept her face cloaked in shadow. Steve could hear her soft breathing and the _tip-tap_ of her shoes as she made her way to the front of the sanctuary, ascending a few steps to the elevated platform where the pulpit stood. Suddenly, Steve heard a slight _click_ ; the room illuminated with light, and all the shadows fled away. The woman turned back to descend the platform, but, as she was in mid-step, her eyes fell upon Steve.

"Oh, forgive me; I didn't see…" The words suddenly stopped. Time stopped with them as instant recognition flooded Steve's eyes. He could hardly believe it; he could not believe it. There, before him, was Cathy, the light in her eyes more pronounced than ever before, yet with fingers of shadow still clinging to the centers.

"Cathy…" Steve whispered. Yes, it couldn't be anyone else. The sincere eyes and the compassionate face, though aged with care and time, could have belonged to no one else. No one else.

Cathy's eyes widened in astonishment, and her hands trembled as she descended the podium. "Steve," she responded, her voice full of emotion. The fingers of shadow which haunted her eyes slowly began to dissolve as fresh tears clouded them and trickled down her cheeks. She was only a few feet away now.

For several moments Steve and Cathy stood still, each gazing at each other in a deep silence. The emotions that passed through their eyes shifted between amazement, joy, and sorrow. All the years of separation seemed like a thousand years. All the confusion and love Steve had buried inside of him for nearly ten years began to spring to life like the beginning of an approaching storm. He could feel the buried remorse flooding his soul, the prickle of tears against his eyes. For an instant, he wanted to shout out against her. _Why did you leave, Cathy? You just left…never even explained why! Never even looked back! Never…_ Steve stopped himself. He had tried for so many years to release the past, to forgive her. He thought he had. Yet now he could feel every emotion of that day—the day she walked away—as if it was happening all over again. As if what had happened was a dreadful dream, and was now taking form before his eyes.

Cathy returned Steve's gaze, the rapid beating of her heart pounding in her ears. She could see the deep pain in his eyes, and the forcefulness with which he attempted to keep all his emotions locked inside. A pang of grief pierced her heart. Steve had always been open with her about everything. He had shared his emotions, his fears, and his love with a fierce devotion. Stephen had given her his heart, even though he had not known her long. Yet, now, he attempted to hide his feelings—to hide the anger she knew he felt. Cathy could not blame him. _I left without an explanation…without even a look back. Oh, Steve, I must tell you why…I have longed for so many years to explain. Perhaps now I have the courage._ Cathy swallowed the rising lump in her throat and stepped closer to Steve. She extended her hands and gently grasped his.

"It is wonderful to see you again, Steve…after so long," Cathy stated, her voice hardly above a whisper. Steve could feel her hands trembling; he saw the fear in her eyes. There was something she wanted to say—something she _needed_ to say. However, he could see that her courage was struggling to break through, just like the light in her eyes struggled against the encroaching shadows within.

He wanted so desperately to know _why._ There was also a part of him that wanted to flee the sanctuary. What good would it do to open those wounds again? He wondered, for an instant, if he could even bear to know the truth. Yet, could he truly forgive her without knowing it? A whirlpool of emotions swept across McGarrett's eyes as he gazed straight into Cathy's face. _Will she tell me the truth? Oh, God, give me strength…I am afraid to know it._ Steve felt anxiety course through his body. Nevertheless, he found the voice to reply. "Why, Cathy?" he asked, his voice low and sorrowful. "Don't hide it any longer. Now is the time to tell me the truth."

Cathy attempted a weak smile. "You are still as direct as ever, Steve. Some things never change." Cathy bit her trembling lip and looked away for a moment. She wanted to tell him the truth; she wanted to so badly. Yet, the fear that had grasped her heart all those years ago was returning now. She felt threads of guilt and shame winding through her. Would he understand? Or would he turn away, just like her father did? Cathy uttered a silent prayer for courage before bringing her focus back to Stephen. Cathy swallowed the fear that rose within her breast, and a sudden determination flooded her features. _I must tell him, no matter what happens._ Cathy breathed out a soft sigh, released Steve's hands, and walked over to one of the many stained-glass windows. She could see the lights of the city twinkling brightly in the darkness. She felt so small for a moment; the world and all its problems seemed so immense.

"You remember, many years ago, when I told you about my mother—about how I loved her?" Cathy paused for a moment, though she didn't expect Steve to say anything. The feeling of fear was stronger now. "What I didn't tell you was that my father never truly loved her." Cathy's eyes began to fill with fresh water, and she bit the inside of her cheek. "My father and mother married each other when they were very young…they thought they loved one another then, but when you are young you don't truly know what you want. You are still trying to discover who you really are." Cathy stated this last sentence in very low tones, almost as if she were ashamed of its truth.

"As you know, my father became a successful lawyer. His law practice grew, as did the finances. He spent the money freely and enjoyed every minute of it." Cathy's voice was traced with sorrow. "Everything was a success for him except his marriage. He had neglected the true treasure in his life. I remember clearly the fights my parents would have. My father's abusive words, his impatience…all the secrets he kept from her. I know my mother was trying her best to make the marriage work. She loved the Lord first and foremost. My mother persevered through all the pain because she loved her Savior, and Chris, and me. My father loved us, too—dearly—but he never really understood what love was. Anyway, my father shut my mother out of his life…out of his thoughts, even. I know my mother was not perfect, but at least she wanted to mend the broken pieces." She swallowed down a rising sob. "She cried so hard some days." Cathy paused again and clasped her hands together to still their quaking. "The ironic thing was that my father claimed to be a strong believer. He read his Bible faithfully, went to church… Yet, I know now that he wasn't close to the Lord; he had not surrendered completely to Him. There is a difference between believing in Christ and surrendering to His will."

"Then, one day, they had a terrible fight—one of the worst. My mother left the house in tears and drove off in her car." Cathy could not hold back the water in her eyes now.

Steve saw the quaking of her body; he could hear the raw emotion in her voice.

"I remember crying after her, but she didn't come back—didn't look back. An hour later, my father received a phone call; it was the hospital. My mother had been in a serious car crash, and she was in a coma." Cathy's tears streamed down her face, yet she still would not look at Steve—only out the window. "Within half an hour my father and I were at the hospital; we raced into my mother's room. The doctors told us that there was little they could do, that there was little hope for survival. I remember being nearly blind with tears when I heard the doctors say that. I was only fifteen, Steve. I could hardly believe any of it was happening. I prayed so hard; nearly every breath was a desperate plea for God's mercy—His healing. But it wasn't His will." She let out a heart-wrenching sob. "She died an hour later. I will never forget her last words to my father. ' _I love you, Paul; I forgive you.'_ Then she slowly turned her head to me. _'Don't cry, my dearest; I will only be a breath away. Promise me,'_ she whispered, _'promise me you will forgive your father for all the pain he has caused your heart—don't hold onto hate. God will give you the power to forgive; only ask. Remember, true submission to God is to die to self…to live for Christ…just like He died for us, so we could truly live.'_ My mother died then, her lips pressed to my cheek."

Cathy was silent again as she tried to regain her composure. "Steve, I tried to forgive my father," she avowed. "I tried to forgive him for all the pain he had brought to my family. It took years and years of asking, dying to self, prayer, and so many tears. Through Christ's power, my father died holding the hand of a daughter who had learned to truly love him."

Cathy turned to face Steve now. Her cheeks were wet with tears, and her eyes were filled with a deep, soulful pain. "The reason why I left you, Steve, was because I was afraid. Though I had forgiven my father, I could never forget all those years of struggle—all those years of pain. I was afraid…" She paused, her voice now only a choked whisper. "I was afraid that, one day, if we were to marry, we would grow apart like that. I was afraid our love would not last…I was afraid you would stop loving me. Then the pain would begin all over again, only this time…I would not be able to bear it. My heart would break again." Cathy's voice broke, and she no longer held back the rising sobs. She covered her face with her hands and wept.

Within seconds, Cathy felt a hand upon her head as she was wrapped in strong arms. "I would never have stopped loving you, Cathy." Steve buried his face in her hair and kissed it softly. "I will always love you."

"I am so sorry, Steve…" Cathy sobbed. "I didn't…I was afraid to trust you…to trust us. I will never forgive myself for walking away…" She looked up at Steve, her eyes red from weeping. "…without even a look back." Cathy was silent for a moment. Then, with a searching gaze, almost as if she was looking into Steve's soul, she asked, "Can you forgive me?"

Steve felt an unexplainable heartache, yet a sweet joy, as well, when he heard those words. All these years, he had thought that she had never truly loved him. Now, however, those deep fears dispelled as he looked into her eyes. She was telling him the truth; there was not a trace of insincerity or deceit in her pleading gaze. Yes, even the shadows in her eyes seemed to have faded a little more.

"Cathy," Steve whispered, cupping her face in his hands, "I forgive you; with all I am, I forgive you." At those words, he felt a deep peace settle within his heart. All the harbored hurt, anger, and confusion began slipping away. He felt as if the stormy waves of his soul had been calmed by an unseen hand. His spirit could breathe again.

Steve could feel Cathy's wet tears against his palms; he could see the relief and peace that illuminated her own eyes.

"Oh, Steve, I am so happy…I was afraid you wouldn't understand…wouldn't be able to forgive me…"

"I do, Cathy, because I still love you." A small smile graced Steve's features as he tenderly stroked her cheek.

Cathy moved her lips as if to respond, but the words caught in her throat and she could not speak. She was unable to find any words—none that would adequately express the emotions of her heart. Instead, she placed his hand to her lips and kissed it. That gesture, in and of itself, spoke more than a thousand words.

A faint sob escaped McGarrett's lips, and he embraced Cathy close to his heart. He could feel her tears against his shirt. Yet, they were no longer tears of pain, but of a deep, soul-felt peace—a soul-felt joy. McGarrett slowly stroked her hair with his hand—a gesture he found so familiar. His nose quivered slightly as fresh tears poured down his face. His eyes gazed upward for a moment. _Thank you, my God._

For several moments, the two figures stood in the middle of the sanctuary; all was quiet and still. Only the occasional sound of a gentle sob rippled through the tranquil atmosphere. Suddenly, Steve felt Cathy's head stir.

"I somehow have the feeling Someone prepared this meeting…knew we both needed to say goodbye… _truly_ say goodbye," Cathy whispered. Her voice was steady now, though lingering tears still glistened in her eyes.

Steve smiled wearily and nodded his head. "Yes, somehow my instinct tells me the same. But what brought you here anyway, Cathy? Do you attend this church?"

Cathy nodded her head. "This is the church I told you about—the one with the garden my mother tended."

Steve chuckled, the weary lines of his face fading momentarily. "Of all the churches in Los Angeles," he murmured, "I walked into this one. The Lord does work in mysterious ways."

"That's not all, Steve. Do you know what I came here for?"

Steve shook his head, his eyebrows elevating slightly in amusement.

"I left my Bible here at the women's Bible study last night—I must have left it on one of the pews. So, I drove over here to pick it up."

Steve's expression stilled. "You left your Bible here?" he asked, his voice low and thick.

Cathy #!*% her head and nodded. "Yes, I did. Steve, what is the matter? Are you alright?"

Steve did not answer right away, but walked over to one of the many pews, bent down slightly, and picked up the worn Bible. He gazed at it for a moment before returning to Cathy's side. He held it out to her. "Is this yours?"

A perplexed smile spread across Cathy's features as she took it from Steve's hand. She lovingly stroked the faded cover. "Yes, it is. It was my mother's." She paused and gazed up at Steve. "But, how did you know where it was?"

McGarrett did not reply at once. A shadow crossed over his face as he remembered the despair he had felt less than an hour before.

"Steve, what is it?"

The head of Five-O let out a weary sigh. Years of sorrow seemed to flood his eyes. "My nephew, Tommy—he died this afternoon." He paused. "I came here to be alone for a while…to talk to God. I found your Bible when despair gripped me; the words within it gave me more comfort than a thousand words." Steve's tense features softened. "He gave me hope when I had none, Cathy. And…" he swallowed down the tightening knot in his throat, "He brought you to me."

Cathy's eyes flooded with compassion, and she raised her hand to gently touch the side of McGarrett's face. Understanding glimmered in her eyes. "'Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? Yet in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us. For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.'"5

Stephen McGarrett's mellow features contorted as he tried to force down the waves of emotion he felt. Those words felt like rivers of fresh water soaking his heart and running inwards to his soul.

Cathy withdrew her hand and glanced out a window. The moon was high in the sky now, and the busy traffic of the streets had subsided to almost nothing. The city was finally closing its eyes, preparing for another day—another beginning. However, few of its inhabitants had such peace in their hearts as Cathy and Steve.

Steve knew the love he had for Cathy would always remain sacred in his heart. However, he also knew that it was too late to go back. Years had gone by for both of them, and that joyful season had passed. The Lord had called him to be the head of Five-O; it was his life full-time. He had been given the moral courage, the unwavering perseverance, and the brains to fight injustice. McGarrett had seen so many awful things, experienced so much pain…he could not bear to let another share in those burdens. Nightmares seized him often; some nights he couldn't find the courage to fall asleep, even though every bone in his body nearly begged him to rest. He kept crazy hours. No, the Lord had given him a purpose…and it was around-the-clock. Somehow, McGarrett knew Cathy understood this. She knew it better than he did. Their paths of life, though directed towards the same end, did not cross. Each had a different calling. However, he also knew that their love was strong. Perhaps, one day, he would begin another chapter of his life—that time, with her by his side. Cathy turned her head and gazed once more into the eyes of the determined policeman. They both knew…and they both longed for that day.

"You still have that determined gaze," Cathy stated softly. "Always calculating, yet always gentle. It speaks more than a thousand words." Cathy smiled to herself and looked to her feet. "I think that is what intrigued me most when we first met."

A grin spread slowly across McGarrett's face. "That couldn't have been the only thing."

A whimsical smile flew across Cathy's face. "You will never know, Mr. McGarrett."

A laugh broke from Steve's lips, and he shook his head. "I'm a cop, remember? It's my job to discover the truth."

Cathy elevated one of her slender eyebrows and held her chin high. "Well, I suppose I am one tough cracker you are not going to break," she stated with a twinkle of amusement in her eye. "This case will have to remain unsolved."

Steve smiled again and shrugged his shoulders playfully. "Who knows? I may have several persuasive tactics."

"Such as…?"

All was silent for a moment. Steve's expression suddenly grew serious as he stepped closer to her and cupped her face in his hands. "May I, pretty girl?" Cathy's features stilled, and McGarrett could feel a slight tremble as his hand made contact with her skin. For an instant, the thought flashed through his mind that perhaps he was asking too much. It had been years since they had last seen each other. So many things had changed; they both had changed. Yet, Steve's love for her had not…in fact, time had deepened and refined it. Had it not for Cathy, as well?

As Steve began to withdraw his hands, Cathy placed her palm upon them and stilled his action. She looked straight into his eyes; there was no fear, confusion or anger in her gaze. "Yes," she answered, her voice hardly above a whisper. Steve's tense facial muscles relaxed and a warm light took its place. With a tender yet sure movement he kissed her.

Dear reader, the few moments that followed became a memory that never faded for either Steve or Cathy. The kiss lasted only a few seconds, yet it sealed a vow of forgiveness and spoke the farewell neither of them could say. In essence, it spoke a thousand words.

Steve slowly released his hold upon her and stroked the side of her face one last time. "I will never stop loving you, Cathy."

Cathy took his hand and squeezed it. "Neither will I, Steve. Not ever." With those last words, Cathy slowly turned away and walked toward the church's double doors. This time, her heart was not in turmoil or cloaked in secrecies. She took a deep breath as her hand touched the doorknob, the cold brass tickling her fingers. She felt tears pricking her eyes. Yet, they were not tears of shame or pain…but, rather, tears of a content joy, like one who is parting from a dearest friend with the knowledge that, before long, they will reunite again…never to part. Cathy knew that there was something she had to do—something she had not done before. Cathy smiled softly and then, without hesitation, she looked back at Steve before shutting the door behind her.

 _Love is not to take, to force…but to give away._ This thought struck McGarrett's core as he watched the door close behind Cathy. He felt his heart skip a beat in response. _To love is to let go. True love thinks not of itself or its desires and needs. It thinks only of the other's. Forgiveness…forgiveness is the same. When you forgive, you are letting go of your hurts, your wants, and your rights, all for another. Forgiving is letting go, and, as you forgive, you are set free._

McGarrett felt a deep humility sweep over his entire being. He slowly bent his head and clasped his work-beaten hands together. _"Thank you, Father…thank you for the patience and forgiveness You have shown me…for teaching me to let go…for teaching me to hope when all hope seems gone."_ McGarrett raised his head.

 _"For teaching me to truly love."_

 _McGarrett's footsteps echoed down the long corridor as he made his way toward the exit. The din of the courtroom could still be heard from behind. Steve's heart was lighter than it had been in many months, though all was utter shock and astonishment in the courtroom. His innermost being was filled with a peace he could explain with only one word: forgiveness._

 _Dr. Freemont had been proved a quack. She would now stand trial for murder—on several counts. Stephen McGarrett had taken no rest until he had dug up every hidden truth and overturned every forgotten story. Now, Dr. Freemont was exposed as the true, heartless woman she was. However, even though the impossible had been achieved, McGarrett's attitude toward her had undergone a change. He no longer felt any bitterness toward the woman. Justice had been served—and, for this, he was proud. Yet, he also had known that he needed to forgive her. Steve had told her this before the court proceedings that day. Dr. Freemont had responded with utter contempt and sarcasm, even going so far as to laugh in his face. Nevertheless, McGarrett guessed that, if he could have seen through her into her soul, he would have seen a very perplexed and shamed one. For even the hardest heart can feel the sting of forgiveness._

 _Stephen took a deep breath as he exited the courthouse and stepped into the late morning air. He sighed and shook his head slowly. "Los Angeles does nothing for the lungs…not even close to pure Hawaiian air." Steve smiled sadly to himself as he thought of how often Mary Ann had teased him about his "Hawaiian pride", as she called it._

 _Mary Ann still had not spoken to him since the night Tommy died. She had been in the courthouse and sat through every minute of Dr. Freemont's trial. However, she had remained cold and aloof toward Steve. In fact, she had not even looked once in his direction. Steve sighed again and closed his eyes momentarily. "Lord, please soften Mary Ann's heart. Help her to let go of her bitterness and anger…to let go of Tommy."_

 _Steve descended the steps of the courthouse and made his way to a waiting taxi cab. He swung his suitcase into the trunk, and was just about to open the cab door when he heard a beloved voice behind him._

 _"Steve! Steve!"_

 _Steve turned around, and the person that met his eyes filled his heart with pure joy. Within seconds, Mary Ann was in his arms._

 _"Oh, Steve, forgive me…forgive me. I am so sorry. I never should have doubted you…I…"_

 _Steve smoothed Mary Ann's crimson hair and tenderly shushed her._

 _"No, Mary Ann, no. Don't say another word. I understand." Steve gazed into her eyes. "There is nothing to forgive…nothing."_

 _Mary Ann's face contorted, and tears began to stream down her pale cheeks. "Oh, Steve, I love you so much…so much."_

 _Steve held her close as she sobbed, burying his face in her hair. There were so many words he wanted to say, but not a sound left his lips. Somehow, he felt that a thousand words had already been spoken; nothing else needed to be said._

 _Pau_

" **When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,**

 **When sorrows like sea billows roll; whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,**

 **It is well; it is well with my soul.**

 **It is well with my soul. It is well, it is well with my soul.**

 **Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,**

 **Let this blest assurance control, That Christ has regarded my helpless estate;**

 **And hath shed His own blood for my soul.**

 **It is well with my soul. It is well, it is well with my soul.**

 **My sin-oh, the bliss of this glorious thought-My sin-not in**

 **Part, but the whole, is nailed to the cross and I bear it no more,**

 **Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!**

 **It is well with my soul. It is well, it is well with my soul.**

 **And, Lord, haste the day when the faith shall be sight, the clouds be rolled**

 **Back as a scroll, the trump shall resound and the Lord shall descend,**

" **Even so"-it is well with my soul.**

 **It is well with my soul. It is well, it is well with my soul."**

 **-** _ **It is Well with My Soul-**_

 **Written by:** _ **Horatio G. Spafford**_

1 Isaiah 55:8-9

2 Isaiah 40: 31

3 Isaiah 41: 10

4 Isaiah 43: 2-3

5 Romans 8:35, 37-39

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